When Guardians Need Guarding
by Reya Levith
Summary: Because even Guardians fall sometimes, and need to be picked up and dusted off before they can continue on. A collection of one-shots about each of the Guardians and their moments of weakness, and the two unique children who are there to help them back on their feet.
1. Seeing is Believing

(A/N): Because all I can take out of a kid's movie is angst. Imagine if I ever watched something more mature.

This is a mini-project, I suppose, and I'd love to say it's about each of the Guardians and their personal moments of fear and weakness, tied into how Jamie and occasionally his sister Sophie counter that with their faith. But unfortunately I can't think of anything for Santa, and to an extent Sandman. Sandy I could probably swing, but Santa is a real stretch.

But Jack is reallyyyyy easy to think of. And anyway he's like, JACK FROST. THE SEX SYMBOL FOR WINTER. HOW CAN HE NOT BE FIRST.

Jack's reaction might be a bit exaggerated and dramatized, but I personally think it's warranted as I feel that Jack's hurt from being neglected and ignored for THREE HUNDRED YEARS is much more painful that he ever lets on. I mean, think about it, being invisible when all you are trying to do with all your heart is to be seen and noticed must be like a continuous slap in the face with a bunch of cold fish. Horrible.

Enjoy! I do not own Rise of the Guardians.

"Jack!"

"Jack!"

"Jack!"

"Ah!" Jack yelled as he nearly collided with a telephone pole, swerving around just in time to avoid being smashed like Jack-pudding. Out of habit, he twirled his staff, his way of regrouping himself from his musings. He had had been having way too many daydreams these days.

"Jack!"

Jack didn't know whether he wanted to keep that voice in his head or not. Sometimes it helped to soothe the hopelessness and loneliness he felt, remembering his severed past. Sometimes it hurt to remember that past, as reality would often sit its unforgiving self right on top of his fond reminiscences and remind him of the stark contrast between three hundred years ago, and now.

Sometimes he just crashed into things from thinking too much. Which hurt.

With a twirl of his staff, he alighted onto his frozen lake, which, despite his light-footed landing, creaked angrily at the weight that was being placed onto it. Easter had definitely passed, and though it was not the great success the Easter Bunny usually enjoyed, spring would be marching round the corner now the day of beginnings and of hope had come and gone.

His job would be taking a backseat soon. No more new snow until December, or even as early as November, if he could swing it.

Oh, back in '68's Easter Sunday, Jack mused, fondly touching on one of his favourite tricks on his three hundred and seventeen years of existence. That blizzard was a masterpiece. Bunnymund threw a fit when he saw it.

Fortunately or unfortunately, Jack Frost wasn't as immature as he had been. Being a Guardian came with a sprinkling of wisdom, and some responsible thinking, as well. No more surprising Easter-welcoming children with a blanket of snow. Jack was learning that his idea of fun-as much as he hated to believe it-was not everyone's idea of fun. It was definitely not Bunnymund's, at least. How that Pooka lived in his hideout with all that grass and...other green stuff, Jack didn't know. He shivered at the thought.

"Shut the window, dear," a mother said soothingly, ringing in his ears as he took his usual aimless walk around Burgess. "Don't let Jack Frost nip your nose!"

"That's silly, Mummy!" a boy's voice, about twelve years of age by Jack's reckoning, replied. The cynical verberations of his voice made Jack's very center quiver in painful anticipation. "Jack Frost doesn't exist."

Jack gasped as a twitch ran through his body, from the nail of his toes to the back of his brain, tingling angrily, making his body convulse on the spot. He nearly lost his grip on his staff.

Being a Guardian was wonderful. Jack was glad he had finally accepted the offer. But sometimes he was reminded at just how much it hurt to not be believed in. And now, being a Guardian meant this was the most important thing in his life.

As long as the children believed in you, you would continue to exist, kept alive by their imaginations and faith. But as soon as they forgot...

This is silly, Jack scolded himself half-heartedly as he sent a thick sheet of ice over the offending child's window, sealing both sides shut from the outside. No one believed in me for three hundred years. I should be used to it.

But becoming a Guardian seemed to enhance the usual ache of desperate loneliness, making it very real. Now, whenever Jack heard himself being disbelieved, his whole body seemed to twitch and stiffen, just slightly. He wondered if this was how Santa had felt, times by a million, when children all over the world began to fear, to lose the wonder in their eyes, to forget the great miracle of every little thing. He couldn't even handle one child saying he didn't exist out loud.

Jack Frost doesn't exist, the words echoed in his head, making him cringe in annoyance and fear.

Jack Frost doesn't exist.

_Jack Frost doesn't exist._

"No, no, no, no!" Jack cried, subconsciously breaking into a run as if to escape, to flee from the taunting, heart-wrenching words. "I'm right here! People believe in me!"

Jack Frost doesn't exist, was the only answer he had, vibrating in his brain so much his teeth began to chatter. He didn't get cold. He was scared.

Jack found himself running, stumbling, tripping in his haste to...go somewhere. He didn't know where exactly, but his feet seemed to be taking him some place.

_Jack Frost doesn't exist._

"No!" Jack half-sobbed, half-screamed in retaliation. Nearly mad with fright, he dashed cold droplets of tears from his eyes as his feet continued to carry him somewhere.

Someplace safe, Jack thought desperately. Please. Where the words can't follow me.

He ran up into a garden, a vaguely familiar garden, its blades of grass crisply decorated with his best handiwork (he always saved his most artistic self for his hometown), and leapt suddenly in the air to grab and clamber onto a windowsill and rap desperately on the glass.

"Jamie!" he snivelled, hands gripping the windowpane until his arms quivered with exertion.

Jamie sat up in bed immediately, blinking the sand from Sandman's caring dreams away as he awoke. He would know that voice anywhere.

"Jack?" he whispered delightedly, seeing the crouching figure in the window, casting a shadow over his bedroom. He padded quickly over the floor to fling the windows open, expecting a icy-cold smile of mischief shining back at him. "Jack! You came back-so soon! I-Jack!"

Jack slipped into the room with a barely controlled step, falling to his knees as he grabbed Jamie in a forceful hug, eyes wild and rolling, like a horse when it smells fire, panicking.

"You can see me," he muttered, rocking back and forth on his knees. "You still believe."

"Well, yeah," Jamie replied, not understanding why his Guardian friend was being so-out of it. "Jack, what's wrong?"

"People don't believe," Jack said into Jamie's shirt, closing his eyes to block the tears. Now he had tasted the unbridled joy of being seen, being reminded of the many other disbelieving children in the world made him feel lonelier than ever by contrast. "Jack Frost doesn't exist."

"But I believe!" Jamie hastened to reassure his Guardian, patting the winter sprite on the shoulder. Jack seemed to tightened his grip as he drew in a tearful breath.

"But what about when you're not around anymore?" he whispered. "I'll still be here! Who will believe in me then?"

"We kids will always believe in the Guardians," Jamie insisted. "They protect children. And even adults believe, sometimes. I'll never stop believing." He extricated himself from Jack gently, who sat on the floor on his haunches. Jack's staff lay dejected on the floor of Jamie's bedroom, by the window.

"Why do you believe in me, Jamie? How can I make other children believe in me?"

Jamie hopped backwards onto his bed, looking down at his Guardian. He looked thoughtful.

"It'll take time," he told Jack, who at that moment felt as if Jamie was the three hundred and seventeen year old, and he barely ten. "You make winter fun! You make everything fun. You can do it. People who don't believe in you, don't believe in having fun. So you teach them how!"

Jack shifted himself into a cross-legged position, looking up at Jamie in wonder. How did such a young boy possess such quantities of wisdom? Jack had been on this Earth for a long time, and he had never, ever, had the fortune to see things as clearly as Jamie did. For three hundred years he had gallivanted across the world, with no clue what he was meant to do on it. But Jamie knew.

"Jamie," he finally said, voice gruff from the earlier flood of tears blocking up his throat. "You are a special kid."

Jamie grinned, intuitively knowing that was supposed to be taken as a compliment. He crossed his legs up onto his bed.

"Can you tuck me in now?" he asked hopefully. To be sent off to one of Sandman's dreams by Jack Frost himself, would be a great honour indeed.

Jack smiled as he got up, grasping his staff from behind him as he did.

"'Course, kid." He waited as Jamie threw the covers back and snuggled down, shifting to find the best niche in the mattress, then drew the covers over him. Leaning over Jamie, he ruffled the boy's brown hair and twisted his lips in a fond smile of farewell. Jamie's eyes were closed and as Jack watched, his breathing deepened quickly and the golden shimmering sand of beautiful dreams came curling in through the window, ready to take Jamie wherever his vast imagination wanted to.

Jack slid a hand over the stream of gold, approving of the Sandman's gift to the saviour of the Guardians, and followed it out to the windowsill before he looked back at the young boy's sleeping form, his first believer.

"Thank you, Jamie," he whispered, and left a deliberately unsymmetrical, abnormally large snowflake framed in the window before he took his leave.

Something to remember him by.

LET'S SAY IT TOGETHER NOW AWWWWWWWWWWW

Jack and Jamie are brothers from other mothers. That's all I have to say.

I think I'm going to do Bunnymund and Sophie next. They're dynamic is just-so-*SQUEEEEEE*

Can't you just feel the soft spot Bunnymund has for her? I bet SHE'D get to scratch him between the ears and under the chin.

Please tell me what you think!


	2. Edge of Existence

(A/N): BUNNYMUND! My goodness, this was so much harder than I had anticipated. I mean, I didn't realize exactly how complex Bunnymund was, and more importantly how I hadn't thought about his whole character and personality and all until I began to write this. It came out all garbled the first time. I wrestled with this piece. _Wrestled_.

I've been shamefully (but I feel no remorse) doing this during review lessons instead of studying or listening to the teacher. I couldn't concentrate even if I tried. But now this is out of the way...

EXAMS T.T

I really hope you enjoy! Thank you to all the people who favourited, followed, reviewed, or even just read it. You guys really made my night when I posted it and got such a quick response. I was a bundle of received love :D

I don't own Rise of the Guardians. They hold a special place in my heart, though.

Guardians don't sleep. There is no time to sleep. The Sandman has his dreams to send to all the children in the world, around the clock. The Tooth Fairy has her teeth to collect, incisors to keep safe. Santa has a whole world of children to check up on to make sure he's only giving to the nice and not the naughty. Even their newest member, Jackson Overland Frost, has found his center in spreading the cold tickle of fun in little ones everywhere, although his other job of spreading frost and chilly weather has been set aside for the coming months.

E. Aster Bunnymund, the Easter Bunny, has things to keep him more than occupied all year round, as well. He has eggs to care for, seven continents to scour for the best hiding places.

But if he had time to sleep, or even a need to, E. Aster Bunnymund is sure he wouldn't want to close his eyes anyway. Not anymore.

"Mummy! There's something in the bushes! Look!"

For a precious moment, Bunnymund can only stand paralyzed, muscles frozen in place with a roiling set of emotions. A part of him was burning with relief that he hadn't been seen completely. Another part was sticking Bunnymund's large feet into the ground with the recent, irrational fear that now clouded his mind often after the brush with the Nightmare King, the fear of being invisible. Even remembering that he now had this fear made him tremble.

His brain finally managed to slam a command into the forefront of his mind and he jolted on the spot.

_Run!_

It was more than enough to uproot his feet, and it jumpstarted his heart with it, sending it pounding crazily out of time as he vanished down a tunnel of his own making, bounding with powerful springs of his back legs.

The fear that would have made Pitch Black chuckle in greatest delight was still there, seeping into his mind like a cloud of black sand. Bunnymund remembered when he would have scoffed at such a thought. Him? Invisible? He was the Easter Bunny, and he was not a Pooka to be silenced easily. Children didn't lose faith in the Easter Bunny.

But after that horrible catastrophe of an Easter, Bunnymund had been faced with what he had formerly believed to be an impossible situation, a moot incident to even consider.

"I guess the Easter Bunny doesn't exist," one little kid had said, turning resolutely away from him, six foot tall in stature but fast diminishing in self-assurance.

He got the jitters whenever he thought about the next part, the terrible hollow feeling of being passed through, as if he were a ghostly spectre.

At least ghostly spectres could be _seen_, Bunnymund thought bitterly, as he leapt his way back to the Warren, a hole in his heart that had wheedled its way into existence the moment he had felt thousands of young souls losing belief in him. Losing hope.

Frostbite's pain had suddenly become so much more real. Bunnymund had always thought that, after that blizzard of 68', it nearly served Jack Frost _right _to be unseen. At least all the trouble-making that trailed deliberately in his wake would be dismissed as coincidence, random occurrence, and not an example of a Guardian that children looked up to.

But to wish that on Jack now, little frostbiting showpony though he was, would be severely hypocritical, since the mere thought of it now set Bunnymund shivering down to his paws, unable to think clearly.

And besides that, Bunnymund would never have had the chance to meet dear little Sophie Bennett if it hadn't been for that irrepressible monkey of a winter sprite. And Bunnymund wouldn't have traded that little girl for all the eggs in the world, no, not even for the loss of a fear he had used to scorn at.

In fact...Bunnymund calculated the time it would be in Michigan right at that moment, even as he changed his passage through his tunnels in mid-stride, backtracking into a totally new route with blinding speed.

Yes. Just after her bedtime, meaning that her parents would be out of the way, and Sophie would be complaining that she couldn't get to sleep. She had never been the calmest of children, unlike her brother, Jamie, who had wisdom beyond all their years and the steady temperament of a loyal young boy who refused to stop believing. Sophie was a bundle of energy.

Sophie Bennett was also the only child Bunnymund felt like seeing after a particularly bad bout of chilly fear creeping up under his blue-gray fur. To remind him of who he was, and why he was a Guardian.

Bunnymund quelled the silent squeak of protest that sprouted in his mind at his plan of action. It wasn't really against the rules. Guardians didn't have _rules _to abide by, apart from maybe a vague 'thou shalt protect the children' sort of code. And anyway, it wasn't as if he was doing Sophie any harm by visiting.

He popped out of his tunnel at the very foot of her bed, stepping up out of it in a four-legged crouch as sounds of a restless shifting made the bed creak, sounding annoyed at having to carry this child that didn't really want to go to bed anyway. The thought made Bunnymund smile.

With a silent, perfectly quiet straightening of his shoulders to his large, rather imposing height, Bunnymund raised himself on two feet as he greeted her.

"Hard time sleeping, eh, ya little ankle-biter?"

"Bunny!" Sophie whispered, for even she understood that Bunnymund would have to leave if her parents came bursting into the room at her shrieks, however happy, when she was supposed to be asleep. But even for a whisper it was joyously filled with delight, and that warmed Bunnymund more than any springtime weather could. With a spring that made the Pooka proud, Sophie jumped up from her bed and leapt straight at Bunnymund, burying her face in blue-gray fur.

The bed didn't like her antics and made its disdain known by groaning louder than ever, but Bunnymund didn't care. Carefully he hugged her back.

"Bunny come to play!" Little Sophie said, slipping off her bed and dancing all around her small room with lightfooted steps, her favourite fairy wings fluttering on her back as she bounced up and down.

It wasn't really a question. Sophie always said that whenever he visited, and he could never refuse. It wasn't like he wanted to say no, but all legendary 'myths', from the grouchy old groundhog to dear old Nicholas St. North, had always abided by the unwritten rule of 'almosts'.

Almost seen, almost noticed, almost able to be proven real. Anything less, and people would forget. Anything more...well, no one had ever tried it but perhaps the leprechaun, and see how much flak he got for his pot of gold. It didn't matter that he always put curses on them, or was even more of a pain-in-the-behind than Frostbite himself for sheer loudness and tendency to get drunk. People saw him as a way to get rich, something to be taken advantage of.

Sophie wouldn't be like that, Bunnymund knew. But if he got too attached, wouldn't that start to interfere with his thinking? He'd always put Sophie first, and that wasn't really fair to every other child in the world.

_So?_ another part of him countered. Frostbite had been right when he'd noted that they didn't know how to deal with kids anymore. They'd lost themselves to the bigger picture. Sophie was a wonderful detail in the fabric of the children of the world.

"Not for too long, okay, Sophie?" he said softly, although his front paws were already cradling a newly-made egg for Sophie to cuddle. It walked right off his paws and onto her nose so that she smothered her nearly hysterical giggles as she tried to keep it there for as long as possible.

The egg did its best on the craggy recesses of Sophie's nose and cheekbones, but it only lasted seconds before tumbling off its spindly feet and rolling off her face.

"Bunny hop hop hop!" Sophie giggled, carrying the egg back from where she had ended up, on the other side of the room after her frantic attempt to keep the egg on her nose. The egg's stick-legs were kicking up in the air crazily, hopelessly trying to right itself in Sophie's cradled pair of hands. "Bunny!" she said simply, grinning as she looked up at the Pooka.

"Bunny?" she repeated once more, her hand with the proffered egg retreating as she looked up in concern at her six-foot tall bunny warrior. Bunnymund forced a smile as he took her hand and knelt down to her level.

"Well now, if that isn't the most adorable thing I ever saw," he replied affectionately, trying to shoulder a lighthearted tone even if his heart really wasn't in the effort.

"Bunny sad?" was Sophie's perceptive question. She placed the egg carefully on Bunnymund's nose, helping it to keep balance, as if to cheer him up the same way he did for her. The egg did its best, but only succeeded in a couple of pinwheeling stumbles before it fell back into Sophie's hand.

"Nah, ya little ankle-biter," Bunnymund said, lying through his teeth with a smile. "I was thinking. That's all."

"Bunny hop hop hop?" Sophie asked instead, bouncing on the soles of her feet. Was her guardian bunny all right? Sophie couldn't understand the intricacies of it all, but what she did know was that her big bunny friend wasn't his usual self, and that it was up to Sophie to help.

Bunnymund smiled. "Yeah," he agreed, as Sophie tugged on his belt of eggs insistently, wanting him to join in her. "All right, all right, Bunny's hopping."

Maybe seeing her, and having her see him, wasn't such a bad thing. As far as he could tell her belief wasn't wavering, or changing for the worse in any way. Perhaps a little attachment was fine.

Bunnymund couldn't deny that his work seemed to have that extra joy in it when the memory of Sophie at his Warren popped into his mind. She was his driving force. She made years of bringing hope to children, decade after decade, seem new somehow.

Sophie hopped in a circle, turning it into more of a jig rather than a hop as Bunnymund joined in with half an effort, more preoccupied with making as little sound on the creaking boards as possible rather than jumping.

"Hop hop hop!" Sophie half-chanted, half-sang as she hopped first on one leg, then the other, as if jumping from stone to stone across a river. Holding her hands out for balance, she bounced her way around Bunnymund, smothering giggles as she went. Bunnymund grinned to himself as reached out, lightning fast, to grab his little believer by the middle and yank her into the air.

Oops. Bunnymund cringed at the shriek of laughter that left Sophie's lips in a cry that was decibels too loud to be anything but bad news. Her parents would be charging their way up to her bedroom.

No time to disappear. Bunnymund cursed himself for his silliness as he quickly tucked Sophie into her bed. Shushing her protests urgently, he dug his feet hard against the floor and dove over her just as her father burst through the door, nestling himself against the bed and floor in a desperate attempt to stay hidden.

"What happened? Sophie!" he called loudly, stepping into the room in his dressing gown. Bunnymund shrank his gangly form harder against the floorboards, hoping that the adult wouldn't walk any further into the room. Six-foot-tall rabbits were hard to miss, even when they were trying hard to stay out of sight.

"Daddy?" Sophie's voice, too sleepy to be innocent, answered, as she sat up in bed.

"What happened, sweetie? We thought we heard you scream," Her father said worriedly, stepping forwards. Bunnymund pressed himself even further into the boards, keeping his breath controlled with a grand effort.

He didn't need to. Sophie artfully blocked her father's forward movement by getting up and hugging her father comfortingly.

"Saying night night to Bunny," she said truthfully, although the assuming motion she made towards her stuffed toy was not so grounded in real fact. Bunny tried not to breathe too loudly in relief at Sophie's quick thinking.

"Well..." her father wasn't very convinced by her excuse, but seem to be at a loss to find any other explanation. "All right. But its time to go to bed now, Sophie. Come on."

_Ohhh, crikey_, Bunnymund thought frantically. He couldn't escape, and yet he couldn't stay here. He was trapped. That adult was going to lean over the bed and catch a glimpse of him._ Bad, bad bad._

"Okay, Daddy, sleep by myself now," Sophie said quickly, nearly flopping headfirst onto her bed in her haste to keep her father away. Bunnymund stayed as still as possible and thanked the world at large for Sophie's uncannily bright thinking.

Sophie's father chuckled. "All right darling, goodnight," he replied affectionately, crossing the threshold and shutting the door carefully. Only after his footsteps had faded away completely did Bunnymund allow himself a huge release of the breath he had been holding.

"Whooo, crikey, Soph, that was a close one, eh?" he said in a voice barely above a whisper, chuckling shamefacedly at the near-miss situation. Sophie giggled under her breath as she leaned over to check that her guardian bunny was still in one piece.

"Bunny have to go now?" she asked sadly, but thankfully not in a pouting sort of way. Bunnymund heaved himself to his feet with exaggerated care as he dusted himself off and collected a wayward egg from its short-lived escape from his belt.

"Yeah, but you'll be all right," he reassured her softly, ruffling her blond locks. Sophie ducked her head as her hair whirled around her crazily.

"You go to bed now, Soph," he told her, tucking her into bed as she clutched her stuffed bunny to her chest.

"Night night bunny," Sophie replied, eyes closing in tiredness. Her breathing soon slowed and evened as sleep overtook her.

"Night, ya little ankle-biter," Bunnymund replied, too quiet for her to hear. He picked a beautifully painted egg, one of his best ever, to place next to her pillow. It was the one that had tried to walk onto her nose. A small present for being more help than she would ever know. The Easter Bunny's own little guardian of hope.

Bunnymund tapped the ground even as he finished his unheard goodbye. He stepped into the tunnel and vanished, with only an impossible flower shooting out of the floorboards to show for his ever being there.


	3. Golden Nightmares

_I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry -grovels in the ground for mercy-_

_I swear I had meant to write something, anything, and post a new chapter sooner, but I couldn't for the life of me think of something that really connected Sandman with Jamie and even now I'm not satisfied but it's still better than the last 10 attempts. At least now I have a general idea. _

_But no excuses. I apologize for my lack of timeliness._

_Anyway, I hope you enjoy!_

_I do not own Rise of the Guardians. _

Dreams are the backbone of belief. They hold the wishes of a young, innocent generation alive in the grains of their sand. Belief trumps fear anyday, because faith isn't capable of fear. It trusts.

So to destroy belief, you must start with dreams, and to destroy dreams, you must pull it up by the roots. You must take its heart. And Sandman is that heart.

It is no wonder, then, that the Boogeyman is so in fear of the Sandman. They are equals and opposites. Similar, yet incredibly different. Each fighting for control over the same dream sand.

Sandy's sand is gold. Glorious gold. Warm and shiny and welcoming. It's precious and loving.

General Pitchiner's sand, is not. It is nightmare sand. Pitch black, nightmare black. It is greedy and dark and it clings. It grabs onto you and does not want to let go. It feeds on Sandman's sand. On the welcoming, unsuspecting gold.

It liked Sandman a lot, the nightmare sand. Such pure gold, it seemed to say, gripping onto Sandman. Such lovely, lovely dreams, full of dear, dear hopes. A feast.

Yummy.

"Don't fight the fear, little man!" screeched Pitchiner, no longer afraid of the man of dreams, for it was Sandman's turn to fear. To fear the darkness and in that fear become a part of it.

Sandman had never feared death before, had never entertained thoughts of oblivion. By the Man in the Moon, he was scared. Scared of death.

Where would he go, after every grain in his body turned black, drained of wonderful dreams? He couldn't just disappear.

There had to be somewhere you went after you ceased to exist...right? Right?

Sandman didn't want to die. He didn't want to disappear. Someone would save him. Someone would come to do something, somehow-

The last grain of sand turned and Sandman was gone, scattered and consumed by the black sand of Nightmares. The obsidian mares whinnied at the completion of their wondrous meal, now hungrier than ever from that tantalizing morsel of belief, for their bottomless appetites were never ever satisfied. Still, the Sandman would keep their cravings at bay for just a while longer. Gold sand was just so delicious. Beings made of that sand were even more lovely.

The next thing Sandy knew was darkness.

Even his thoughts felt sluggish, as if he had the memory of a goldfish coupled with the determination of a sloth. The best way he could think of to describe it would be fractured. He felt fractured, he was fractured. He wasn't even in pieces. He was barely a consciousness spread across non-existant particles. He shouldn't have a consciousness.

But somehow he was still here. He was still here...people still believed in him, in the Guardians. Maybe there was a chance. His fellow Guardians would prevail. They would defeat Pitch for him, and for themselves.

Belief would still live on after dreams. At least his children would not suffer so much without him. At least they would still have their belief.

And with that singular thought, Sandy held on to the edge of the cliff of oblivion, daring to dream for victory. His Guardians would prevail. His friends-yes, even that Frost boy, the winter sprite with something inside him curled up and unable to take flight as something wonderful-would prevail.

But the belief count kept falling. And falling. And with each loss Sandy's intangible grip on the edge of consciousness slipped.

He didn't want to disappear again. He really didn't want to disappear again. If this was oblivion, what happened after this?

Sandy kept dreaming, stubbornly refusing to give up the idea of victory. The nightmares might have taken all of his sand but they wouldn't take his ability to conjure the image of a perfect outcome.

And now they were-they were down to one. One last soul. One last believer. It was too late...

No!

Sandy's intangible trip was slipping. He waited for the last believer to lose the light of believing.

But...the light still glowed. It was still glowing.

It was still glowing!

They had a chance! Sandy clung to his edge desperately, praying his Guardians could see the same as he. They still had a chance!

It felt longer than forever, agonizingly feeling that one light glow its brightest in the surrounding darkness of hopelessness and fear. Sandy focused everything he had-it wasn't much, but it was all he could do at the moment-on the dream that the Guardians could still make it out of this. The dream of success, of hope and wonder, of joy.

The glow had started to flicker, then to tremble, then dimmed. Sandy lost his grip on the ledge and began to lose any sense of anything.

He really was going into oblivion this time. Sandy didn't want to-to die. He felt scared, and lonely, and desperate. There was no more time for saving. Pitch had won.

No!

Sandy's fall suddenly crashed to a halt. He was still here, still thinking! He was still-still alive...maybe...

The light was back on. Brighter than ever. Still only one light, but it was a light.

And there was something new about this light. It believed in the Guardians, yes, and all that they represented...but it also brought something new to the table.

The last believer believed in something new. Something refreshing and mischievous and-sort of blue?

Frost! The last believer believed in-was believing in-Jack Frost!

The last light was still on, and its belief was stronger than ever. Oh, oh please, let it be enough...

Sandy could feel the fear, around him, inside him, smothering him, chasing that same light he felt in the deepest recesses of his consciousness. It was after the light. It was going to destroy to light, to savour the light.

"There are other ways to snuff out a light."

They couldn't give up now. They had that one light left! The Guardians had to keep fighting. Sandy was still here. They couldn't leave him!

The Frost boy and the light had a connection. Sandy could feel it. It was the winter sprite who had flicked the light back on in the child and saved Sandy from dissolution, and it was the winter sprite who was now fighting to keep the light safe, keep it burning. But one light wasn't enough.

The black sand around him suddenly felt chillingly cold. It emanated shock, and even Sandy, desperate and alone on his little ledge, felt a slight urge to giggle. The chill tickled. And it had made the blackness around him shiver.

Frost was really showing up to be more than anyone could ever have guessed. He seemed to be just what the Guardians needed. He was bringing the lights back on in the world.

Sandy's grip on the edge strengthened with each new light that was relit. They could make it. Sandy's dream was coming true.

At this, the nightmares seemed to rally against him, angered by the implications of Sandy's dream of triumphing over fear and darkness. They tightened around him, grains of pitch black sand grating against his consciousness viciously, jabbing at him.

Sandy kept on dreaming. He was dreams. They couldn't take that from him. He would dream his dream of a great outcome, and there was nothing all the nightmare sand in the world could do about it.

Golden...golden sand! Sandy felt a tug on his consciousness, something not quite painful, yet insistently pulling at his essence. Was that-it was!

His sand had come back! Sandy-Sandy wasn't alone anymore! The children had brought his sand back!

He wasn't going to disappear!

Sandy gathered his consciousness as best he could and slammed against the darkness and fear swirling around and inside him, but could not break out. He was still too weak. He needed help.

The last and first light seemed to understand. They had brought the golden sand of beautiful dreams back, but they needed more than that. They needed imagination, and a strong, pure wish, and the desire to succeed.

They needed the Sandman. And to get him, they needed dreams.

A unicorn, a stream of gold. They were almost there-just a little more sand...

Sandy was coming. He was coming back to the Guardians. He was coming home.

With an exuberant explosion of pure gold Sandy burst back into the land of reality, regaling in the return of his existence.

Now to make Pitch Black pay. Sandman would not be as naive as his sand this time. His golden sand is loving and trusting and unsuspicious, but the Sandman is not stupid. He will not be so foolish as to underestimate the Boogeyman twice. This time it will be the Sandman who will win the battle over the sand. Every last grain will be gold.

Sandman swears it.


End file.
